VI.

THE REPLY OF THE SHUNAMITE WOMAN.

“And she answered, I dwell among mine own people." 2 Kings, iv. 13.

“ I dwell among mine own,”—Oh! happy thou!

Not for the sunny clusters of the vine,

Nor for the olives on the mountain's brow ;

Nor the flocks wandering by the flowery line

Of streams, that make the green land where they

shine

Laugh to the light of waters—not for these,

Nor the soft shadow of ancestral trees,

Whose kindly whisper floats o'er thee and thineOh! not for these I call thee richly blest,

But for the meekness of thy woman's breast,

Where that sweet depth of still contentment lies; And for thy holy household love, which clings Unto all ancient and familiar things,

Weaving from each some link for home's dear

charities.

VII.

THE ANNUNCIATION.

Lowliest of women, and most glorified!

In thy still beauty sitting calm and lone,
A brightness round thee grew-and by thy side
Kindling the air, a form ethereal shone,

Solemn, yet breathing gladness. From her throne A queen had risen with more imperial eye,

A stately prophetess of victory

From her proud lyre had struck a tempest's tone, For such high tidings as to thee were brought,

Chosen of Heaven! that hour:-but thou, O

thou!

E'en as a flower with gracious rains o'erfraught,

Thy virgin head beneath its crown didst bow, And take to thy meek breast th' all holy word, And own thyself the handmaid of the Lord.

VIII.

THE SONG OF THE VIRGIN.

Yet as a sun-burst flushing mountain snow,
Fell the celestial touch of fire ere long

On the pale stillness of thy thoughtful brow,
And thy calm spirit lightened into song.
Unconsciously perchance, yet free and strong
Flowed the majestic joy of tuneful words,

Which living harps the quires of Heaven among
Might well have linked with their divinest chords.
Full many a strain, borne far on glory's blast,
Shall leave, where once its haughty music pass'd,
No more to memory than a reed's faint sigh;
While thine, O childlike virgin! through all time
Shall send its fervent breath o'er every clime,

Being of God, and therefore not to die.

N

IX.

THE PENITENT ANOINTING CHRIST'S FEET.

There was a mournfulness in angel eyes,

That saw thee, woman! bright in this world's train, Moving to pleasure's airy melodies,

Thyself the idol of the enchanted strain.

But from thy beauty's garland, brief and vain, When one by one the rose-leaves had been torn,

When thy heart's core had quivered to the pain
Through every life-nerve sent by arrowy scorn;
When thou didst kneel to pour sweet odours forth
On the Redeemer's feet, with many a sigh,

And showering tear-drop, of yet richer worth
Than all those costly balms of Araby;

Then was there joy, a song of joy in Heaven,

For thee, the child won back, the penitent forgiven!

X.

MARY AT THE FEET OF CHRIST.

Oh! blest beyond all daughters of the earth!
What were the Orient's thrones to that low seat,

Where thy hushed spirit drew celestial birth?

Mary! meek listener at the Saviour's feet!

No feverish cares to that divine retreat

Thy woman's heart of silent worship brought,

But a fresh childhood, heavenly truth to meet,

With love, and wonder, and submissive thought.
Oh! for the holy quiet of thy breast,

Midst the world's eager tones and footsteps flying! Thou, whose calm soul was like a well-spring, lying So deep and still in its transparent rest,

That e'en when noontide burns upon the hills,

Some one bright solemn star all its lone mirror fills.